


We fill the gaps; You and Me make Three

by delightfuls



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, can you tell that I lost the plot at some point?, just a whole lot of talking and angst, these kids have a shit ton of trauma and self perception issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfuls/pseuds/delightfuls
Summary: They find each other in between afternoons and mornings. In rooms only lit by the abundant stars and occasional moon, they come together. His hands trace her figure. Palms skate down her sides and smooth over the light fabric of the hoodie on her back. He squeezes her covered flesh between his hands, a reminder of sorts; she’s alive, she’s here, she’s real.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	We fill the gaps; You and Me make Three

**Author's Note:**

> For Anna and Vero.
> 
> note; suggestive themes and quite a lot of mention of blood but nothing gory.

They find each other in between afternoons and mornings. In rooms only lit by the abundant stars and occasional moon, they come together. His hands trace her figure. Palms skate down her sides and smooth over the light fabric of the hoodie on her back. He squeezes her covered flesh between his hands, a reminder of sorts; she’s alive, she’s here, she’s _real_. 

* * *

He can’t count the number of nights, during her time within her crystalized defense, that he’s dreamt of her. Every single one began the same way; him sleeping in his room. A hand over his naked chest, his breathing calm and measured, until the door to his room opens. The rickety old piece of wood would scrape against the floorboards. The sound would cause him to suddenly sit up and thoroughly rubs his eyes. When he opened them he’d see her, leaning sideways behind the door, half of her torso visible, her face hidden in the darkness, the only discernible thing about her appearance are her bangs. Her already pale hair looks doused in silver, because of the moonlight peeking through his windows.

 _‘Annie,’_ he’d let out in disbelief. The whisper of her name on his lips, would make her slowly slither into his room, until her back was pressed against the closed door. Now her body fully bathed in the moonlight, he’d notice she wasn’t in the Military Police uniform she had crystalized with, but in a loose white nightgown that fluttered against her ankles. That should’ve been the first sign, but dreams are meant to be realities one wishes were true, so he’d will himself to believe that Annie was indeed in his room. 

His heartbeat would pick up, the fingers that had been splayed over his bare chest would shake as his heart thumped loudly against his ribcage. Without a second thought, he’d push off the flimsy piece of fabric covering his lower half and push his legs to the bed. He’d watch her quietly as she made her way towards his bed, her body moving so mindfully; she’d remind him of what he had once read in a book. _‘Animal who are believed to be higher in the food chain tend to pursue their prey carefully, they do not wish to lose their means of survival and so they proceed with caution, creating a false sense of security before jumping in for the kill.’_

But if she was the predator and he the prey, he foolishly admits, he’d gladly let her kill him. If it means he can see her ocean eyes flutter open again and her warm flesh on his fingertips, he’d gladly take a knife to the back or the death grip of the Female Titan.

After a couple of minutes of mindless thinking, Armin would be brought to his senses by a weight settling on his laps. Somehow while he was thinking about animals and the food chain, she had found her way towards him, with both of her knees on either side of his hips. His throat would go dry, his arms on his sides, hands gripping the sheets while her own hands remained near his collarbones. It felt almost as if she were back to being a statue, her whole being frozen, despite their position, a position she had _initiated_. Her head would also be slouched, hidden from his gaze. His left hand would then move slowly, cautiously with the intent of tilting her chin towards his face, so he could see her eyes, but within the second he’d reach her skin, he’d wake up in pants, his body cold and drenched in sweat, 

_A dream._

* * *

And yet tonight was real, and so were the last few nights-- Her right index traces his brow bone and he gazes up at her. Her eyes are as impassive as ever, hidden behind the countless strands of her light blonde hair, but he can see traces of concern within the silver. He tilts his head slightly to the left to catch her palm with his lips, he hopes she understands what he tells her; 

_Sorry I got distracted._

_I’m here now,_

Her soft pink lips twitch slightly before she bites down on her lower lip and turns away from his gaze. He knows why they meet at night, because she can’t bear to see him in daylight. It’s not _him_ , at least he hopes it isn’t. He thinks he knows why; the reason why Annie can’t bear to look at him during the day is the same as why he can’t stare at his own reflection for longer than a second. 

_When did you start looking at me like that?_

But it’s not her asking him that this time. It’s himself. He sees himself standing before him. The other him, has his eyes and heart gouged out. He’s weeping blood, coughing it up until his white button down is drenched in it. His other self moves slightly towards him, and he flinches. Are you disgusted by all that _we_ have done Armin, the reflection asks. Armin thinks there is a metaphor or some poetic meaning to that delusion of his. Maybe it’s guilt, for seeking the best in people that are beyond help, or in situations that are hopeless. Or maybe it's for being a hypocrite; preaching about peace and other ways to achieve goals that don’t end in bloodshed, all the while having killed thousands and eaten someone he once called comrade and friend.

But.

It’s not _him_ , it’s his blood stained hands, he thinks, as his thumb and forefinger grasp her chin, and tilts her face towards his. 

It’s how despite this, despite the blood clinging onto his fingers and crawling under his nails, his eyes portray the calm, and not the storm that he has caused. A false sense of comfort that he has implemented so deeply into his being, to forget the guilt, that it shows within his eyes. 

So it’s not him, he tells himself even though he knows it kind of is. He leans his forehead and touches hers. She inhales sharply, and he breathes out ‘ _I’m sorry,’_ at the same time. 

At his words she moves away from his touch and raises a brow. “What are you apologizing for?” She asks, her voice softer than it has ever been, but still with a threatening edge. He chuckles, embarrassed. His cheeks feel hot, he doesn’t know if it’s because of the concern she has for him or the stern tone of her voice. 

He lifts the hand that isn’t clinging onto her waist to his eyes, and tells her. “I am sorry for being a hypocrite.” At her words her brows pull themselves together, and he mentally slaps himself at the image before him. All he wanted was to soothe her worries and yet here he is making her feel even more anxious. These nights are meant to be silent, a way for them to map out each other without being forced to deal with the unsaid and yet here he was saying what _should remain_ unsaid.

All he wants to do is touch the tense area between her brows softly, and trace her lips with his own, but he knows he’s opened a door that cannot be closed until they’ve somewhat aired out all that had been brewing within both of their souls. 

She clears her throat before asking him why exactly he thinks that he is a hypocrite. His shoulders tense up, and she must feel it because her grip on them suddenly becomes a bit tighter. She’s fighting to keep him from drifting away. 

“I, Annie...I am not a good person.” He tells her, his voice barely a whisper. He hears her let out a soft chuckle, “If you aren’t a good person, then I might as well be the _Devil_ , Armin.” 

Armin’s eyes widened at her words. He knew how she had never forgiven herself for all the bloodshed she had caused; he saw it in the way she flinched when Mikasa would touch her arm, a touch meant to be comforting would have her recoiling, as if she had been burned. He saw it in the way she refused politely to join him or the others during simple outdoor tasks or activities (not his idea, but Levi’s, for some reason their ex-captain is hellbent on having them spend quality time together). 

He feels her shift, her face once again turning away from his own. Her eyes become focused on how the moonlight splays against his collarbones. The quietness that has settled between them isn’t uncomfortable per say, but he still fights to find the right words to say, because he _has_ to make her believe that she is not the Devil she claims to be and he, not the pacifist Saint, most see him as.

Slowly he moves the hand that had been covering his eye towards her face. His palm cups her cheek. Unconsciously, Annie leans into his touch, and he feels a warmth bloom within his chest, his face softens. “Annie,” he says, his voice, soft, trying to coax her to look at him. 

“Remember how I told you I didn’t like the term ‘ _good_ person’? I meant that.” He says while brushing his thumb against her cheek. If he weren’t so close to her face he probably wouldn’t have noticed how her brows furrowed for a millisecond. “I do.” She says after a beat. 

She tucks her nose into his shirt and inhales deeply, her arms now enlaced around his torso, her fingers crawling across his back to grasp his shoulder blades. The action takes him by surprise, he stiffens, as the hand that had been holding her cheek finds itself suddenly frozen midair.

Before she can second guess herself (something he knows she’s quite fond of unfortunately), he places his hand on her arm, rubbing circles onto it to soothe her anxiety away. Her breathing is slow and measured, and he takes that as a sign to tilt his head sideways and lay his cheek on the top of her head. 

It’s quite comforting, and more intimate than anything she and they have ever done. They’ve kissed, touched and groped many times before and yet nothing could compare to the warmth she felt right now, in his embrace. 

“We are not good people,” She hears his muffled voice. She flinches at _‘We,’_ because she knows she isn’t, but to hear the words tumble out from his lips causes a different kind of pain. She knows he’s a master in deception, hell, she’s been at its mercy, but she also knows he’s incredibly honest when he needs to be. 

He must feel her hurt, because in the next instant, he’s moving her away from his chest and grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She casts her eyes down, she doesn’t think she can bear to look at him in the eyes, even if the darkness clouds most of the emotions within them. 

“A good person, seems to mean any one person, who is only good for you, and I don’t think there is anyone who is good for everyone.” He tells her softly, and Annie recalls the same words from the time he had confronted her after the 57th expedition.

“Annie…” His voice is hoarse, “please look at me.” Her heart thunders against her chest, she’s scared. She can’t. Not when his eyes will show her the truth, show her just how much of a monster she is. 

Armin doesn’t insist again, instead lets the plea hang in between them. He knows why they meet at night. Darkness clouds vision. 

Light offers too much of a window into each other’s souls; and Armin knows that she cannot look at him just as much he can’t look into her own eyes. But he also knows that he cannot live a life without being by her side or a life where she cannot forgive herself.

He resolves to tell her, even if she isn’t looking at him because he knows how much they both need to hear the truth.

His thumb and forefinger stay at her chin as he begins talking again but she doesn’t move her eyes away from the buttons at the bottom of his shirt. “We have killed countless.” He says before stopping as if he had just stepped on a twig that would unleash a beast onto him. 

“Comrades, children, parents, daughters, sons, lovers,” she notes the way he whispers the last word. “We are not good people, because we haven’t been good to many people, we have killed their flesh, torn their bones.” He continues. 

As he takes in a deep breath he sends the hand not holding her chin, behind his back, to grab one of the hands she has splayed on his back. His grasp is rough, prying, at first she doesn’t understand why, but then realizes that she had been unconsciously clinging onto him. Pushing his thumb into her palm, he brings her hand between them and leans towards her, his back curving in a way she knows must be uncomfortable. The springs in the old mattress under them creak as he moves his rear closer to the edge in order to accommodate this new position. 

She feels him wobble a bit, but doesn’t move away, because she knows he’s _got_ her, and even if he didn’t she’d just drag him down to the ground with her.

His thumb draws circles into her palm slowly as the tip of nose buries itself in her bangs. “We both have blood on our hands, and there’s nothing we can do about that.” 

She lets out a shaky breath as the fingers within his grasp twitch. He continues, “I understand why you can’t look at me Annie, and I think you understand why I can’t look at you, and most in the eyes either, too.” 

And she does, well maybe, she’s not sure why Armin would look away from anyone, when he’s almost the physical embodiment of the Sun, so she keeps quiet.

Armin takes her silence as a cue to continue, but the words get stuck in throat when he’s reminded once again of the dreams he’s had of her, unwillingly, he lets out a chuckle. Her head jumps at the sound, he’s met with her eyes, finally. He cannot believe that it took a little laugh from him to make her look at him, and not all the words that had been pouring out from his heart, but then again Annie is never predictable, and he loves her for it. 

He takes this as an opportunity to straighten his back and adjust his grasp on her chin, he doesn’t ever want her to look away. He sees her lips part, eyes widen but before she can say anything, a groan falls from his lips. “Man, that was not the best thing for my back,” he says with a dry laugh, as he slowly lets go of the hand he had been holding to go soothe the ache in his back. He’s met with her own hand, pushing three of her fingers with force at the dip of his back. His eyes soften at the action. Annie feels her cheeks heat up under his gaze, she tries to turn her face to the side, but before she can, his grasp on her chin becomes a bit more forceful, not hard or painful, but just enough to tell her that he does not want her to move anymore. 

Her hand stays on his back while he brings his hand to her face, his thumb glides from her brow bone to the corner of lips, and now she can’t tear her eyes away even if his gaze is eating up her heart. He looks at her so earnestly. With such open adoration, that she can’t breathe. _How does one look at a monster like that?_ She thinks. 

His hand now cups her cheek fully, “Hey Annie, are you still with me?” She must’ve dozed off, because his eyes are now filled with slight concern, she nods slowly, still looking into his eyes. He gives her a kind smile before taking a strand of hair between two fingers and twirling it. 

“Why did you laugh?” She asks, because she is actually curious, and she can’t lie, she wishes to hear the genuine content sound again. 

He smiles at her then, his eyes crinkling, teeth showing, and she wishes suddenly that there was more light in the room, so she could capture the scene and stash it deep within her mind, for darker days. 

“I, uh-” he begins, “I’ve dreamed of you. I’ve dreamed of us, in a similar position as we are in right now.” She looks at him, and she must’ve looked threatening because in the next instant he’s stammering up apologies. “It was never lewd, I wouldn’t dare.” He says as his gaze drops from her eyes. She surprises herself by sending the hand that wasn’t on his back to his cheek, to tilt his head back towards hers. His eyes widen and his mouth opens, she nods, “Go on.”

He tells her, with his eyes staring into hers, that in these dreams, dreams he had for years, she would come to him during the night, with moonlight shining down on their features. And how she’d make her way to his lap in these dreams. She raises her left brow at the image, and once again he tells her ‘never lewd.’ 

“But I could never touch you, in these dreams.” He tells her. “I couldn’t make you look at me, I wanted to see _you.”_ She hears the frustration in his voice, and sees it in the way his brows knit together, her eyelids drop. “What did you want to see?”

“I wanted to see you for who you were. All your sins and all your scars, because in the end we were- _we are_ , similar, I believe you’re good while you don’t and you think I am admirable when I believe the opposite. And, he stops, I know it all seems paradoxical when laid out in front of us, but I feel like despite what we see in each other, you can see through me like no one else.”

She takes in his words, because it's a lot. They’ve never discussed this much about their feelings, burdens or the blood staining their fingers before. She understands him though, what he means. She always has, even during their training days, she remembers wanting to learn more about him, a boy with hope and kindness in his eyes, a kindness that did not waver even when he had cornered her after finding out she was the Female Titan. She knew he had seen horrid things, his comrades dying left and right and yet he remained somewhat hopeful, and she wished to see him, all of it, the bravery, the deception and also see him sag down in exhaustion, see him not be kind, because she knew he must feel a tremendous amount of pressure from guilt and the expectations set by his predecessors. 

“Armin, I look at you admirably, because you are admirable.” His eyes widen as his mouth parts in protest, but she silences him with an index to his lips. “But, that doesn’t mean that’s _all_ I see, I also see guilt, I see the uncertainty and fear of being a burden to others. I can’t control the way I look at you, or how I feel about you, but know this, I know that there is much more to you than the peacemaker and Colossal weapon most see you as.”

His shoulders sag in relief, and she lets herself take a breath, before her nerves finally give in. She takes refuge in the crook of his neck. She’s grateful that he doesn’t ask her to look at him again, instead the hand on her chin moves against her back, back and forth.

He pushes his nose into her hair and inhales deeply, “and you Annie, are much more than the Devil you see yourself as; you are a daughter, a strong-minded, caring and kind person, I wish you understood and saw what I see, but like I said we are both knee deep in our sins to believe what others say about us.”

“But I want you to understand that when I look at you, I am not undermining or ignoring your sins and struggles, I acknowledge them and take them into my heart because I love you, all of you, and you can do with that what you will.” He finishes. 

She stiffens as tears begin spilling out from the corner of her eyes, she doesn’t know why, but she lets them fall. They wet his button down, and if he notices he doesn’t say anything, only lets her let herself crawl deeper into the warmth he’s created. 

When she thinks she’s cried enough, she slowly moves away from his neck. Her face must be a mess, she knows her eyes most likely a bit swollen, and her cheeks covered in tears, her nose is runny but he still looks at her like she’s some type of fucking constellation she knows he’s read about and rambled happily about to his friends. 

“Do you always talk to the girls you take to bed, to death Arlert?” She asks in hiccups as she pushes the sleeve of her hoodie to her nose to wipe it. He lets out a small laugh before cupping her face in both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away any tears left. “Only the ones I love, now let's get this off of you yeah?” He says as he tugs slightly at the hoodie that now has a sleeve covered in snot. 

Not her proudest moment she’ll admit, but she forgets her embarrassment somewhat when she feels his hands glide up her bare back. Her own hands come to the back of his head, her nails gliding over his undercut and her fingers tangling themselves into his hair. 

She tilts her hips upwards as he begins to trace a path down her throat with his nose, “I love you,” she says finally, and he smiles into her skin. “I sure hope you do, I don’t think my poor _little_ heart could handle a _little_ white lie, from _little_ miss Annie.” 

She groans in annoyance at his words and nickname, before moving her hands to his chest to unbutton his shirt. When she’s done with his last button, they both rush to push off the garment. Her hands move down his back, which is firmer, still lean but now also with much more mass than before. His hands grip her thighs as he moves them fully on the bed. His arms find themselves on each side of her head, holding him up above her. His face looks down on her, hair slipping in front of his eyes. And she wants to see him, so she pushes herself onto her elbows and pushes her left hand horizontally against his hair, until she can see his eyes, brows and hairline. “We need to get you some hair clips, Arlert.” She says with a giggle. 

“Is that so?” He asks as he lowers one arm, now leaning onto his elbow too, while sending the other arm to slither down her back. She takes her free hand and places an index to her cheek, falsely contemplating. “Hm, that and matches, because I want to see you.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out, as if he’s shocked at her statement. “Yeah.” She confirms, with a shy smile. 

“I can arrange that,” he says before sealing his lips over hers.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My god. I hope that wasn't too wordy for you guys? And I hope my horrendous use of verb tenses in the dream sequence did not turn you off from the rest of the story. I actually adore Armin and Annie and their dynamic I think they're one of the most well matched couples and also one of the only heterosexual relationships within the show that makes sense. I really wanted to dig deeper into the way both Armin and Annie perceive themselves and each other of course I wasn't able to convey what I think both must feel that well (I am really not happy with how this turned out I feel like its a merry go round type of story I don't know!) But the main take-away here is that they got a shit ton of trauma that won't go unsaid if/when they get together. Anyways, kudos and comments are appreciated, also what would you think if I made a series for them? I like writing for them.


End file.
